


Ballad of the Baker and the Bard

by Black_Salt, RebrandedBard



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Roach is a cat, Slow Burn, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, but not too slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:41:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24978574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Salt/pseuds/Black_Salt, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebrandedBard/pseuds/RebrandedBard
Summary: The Bard's Bouquet popped up overnight in the charming artisan alley as if by magic: a strategic move by its new owner, the eccentric florist Jaskier. Everything's perfect, everything's running smoothly, until the handsome baker across the way walks through his front door. Now Jaskier's head over heels and one wink away from a heart attack, and Geralt isn't faring much better. If Jaskier flirts too long at the counter, he's going to wind up with an oven full of burnt bread.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52





	Ballad of the Baker and the Bard

Here was the perfect location, just as Jaskier had hoped. This was surely the cultural hub of the city, the busiest—but not _too_ busy—street, a little off-road, still accessible by the main straights, but away enough to be considered the art district where coffee snobs and brunch-goers went to think themselves so clever and avant-garde. It was the kind of road where cars had to squeeze through to gain entry, preferred instead by the traffic of romantic feet and little scooters with obnoxious horns equipped with baskets which carried small, yippy dogs or grocery bags with cliché baguettes as seen in films but never eaten. Scenic. The perfect place for his quaint little florist shop: the one thing missing from the street.

Jaskier stood with his hands on his hips, admiring the front of his new establishment. There was his name in bright yellow calligraphy on the display window with swooping, curling letters. The shop itself was freshly painted green, made as bold and bright as the rest of the street, popping up in the night like a spring daisy. The first order of flowers would be arriving in an hour. The street was barren, being early in the morning. He wanted the shop’s opening to be something mysterious and magical, just as if it had been there all along. The windows had been papered until now as he prepared the inside, and the windows and front had been painted in the night. He couldn’t wait to open the door and let in his first starry-eyed customer.

As Jaskier twiddled his keys in his hand, he noticed a sudden light reflected in the window. He grabbed his keys and squinted at the glare. Turning, he saw the light had come from the business across the way. He ducked behind the specials board on the sidewalk just next door and peeked out from round the side, lest he be caught and the effect ruined. After all the care he’d taken, he did not want his plans foiled only hours before they came to fruition.

Someone was in the bakery. Of course, the bakery itself had played a part in his selection. People were always in a fine mood when they smelled fresh bread or coffee in the air, and the surrounding businesses would draw in the date crowds—and what sorry excuse for a date would arrive without flowers? Besides, he himself loved fresh pastries and was too lazy to travel far for them. His only miscalculation was that bakers went to work obscenely early in the morning.

However, lady luck was on his side; there was only one person at work, and he wasn’t looking out the window, but focused on a big metal machine. Jaskier crept out from behind the sign and made his way across the street, curious. He’d never actually seen a baker at work before. He shuffled along until he was at the very edge of the window, hidden mostly from view. It was still dark and the red sun had not yet crested over the horizon; he was confident he would not be seen.

Geralt stood at the mixer, adding ingredients as he went. While he was working on the dough for tomorrow’s bread and pastries, everything else for today was already in the oven baking. A warm and comforting scent of fresh bread and sweet danishes filled the air, flowing out of the cracked open front door. As soon as the store opened there would already be an enticing smell to lure in customers, where young Ciri would snatch them with her innocent smile and subtly push them to buy more products. He inspected the dough in the mixer, it seemed ready enough for kneading. He glanced at the clock, soon enough he’d be done with his shift and he could go home to his beloved cat Roach.

Pulling out the dough, he dropped it onto the flour covered table. It was good that he was wearing a short sleeved shirt or else he’d be getting sticky dough all over his clothes. Gathering it into a large ball, he began the push and pull of kneading the dough. With a roll of his wrists when pushing the dough out, and a push down when gathering it back up, the dough began to take shape and form. After a few minutes of intense dough kneading, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Looking up, Geralt made eye contact with someone standing by the viewing window.

Jaskier had been staring at the baker’s arms, ogling the flex of his muscles as he worked, and had come out into the open unconsciously to get a better look. He had no idea how long he’d been staring when the movement stopped. He looked up and saw golden eyes staring right back at him. He froze like a deer in headlights—caught.

It was at that very moment that the sun rose to wake the day.

As the sun was rising behind the beautiful man standing out of the window, Geralt paused in his kneading, staring in shock at the sight in front of him. Sounds from around him faded out as he looked at how the golden sunlight framed soft chocolate hair in a halo, blinding out most of his features save for the shining blue of his eyes. His frame was solid against the haloing light, subtle but definite muscles filling out the floral button up he wore, short sleeves hugging the biceps and shoulders. He could’ve watched forever, but unfortunately the oven timers were going off and he had to take out the loaves before they burned. Stepping back, he jerked himself away from staring at a pretty guy, focusing on his baking. A slight sadness filled him as he knew he likely would never see the man again. Most people that walked by his store this early were either tourists or fitness junkies who didn’t even bother to look in. Geralt shook his head to focus, taking out the tray of bread loaves to cool.

Jaskier turned and ran back to his shop, flinging the door shut behind him. He braced himself against it, slid down until he was sitting on the cool floor, his face buried in his hands. His face felt like it was on _fire_. He’d expected to look in and see some elderly old man in the window when he saw the flash of long white hair; instead he’d locked eyes with the most mystical, the most _ethereal,_ most _gorgeous man_ he’d ever seen in his life. He’d nearly dropped dead on the spot, his heart was beating so loudly.

He shuffled his feet, flustered. This was the greatest idea he’d _ever_ had. It was the _worst_ idea he’d ever had. How on earth would he be able to run a shop if he was always trying to catch a glimpse of his neighbor? How would he live with himself, so distracted? And how _distraught_ if nothing came of it! He knew nothing about him—nothing at all! He could be married, or straight, or married _and_ straight. He could be uninterested, or boring, or dull.

Jaskier groaned. That was what came of being a romantic. You see a man for the first time in the right lighting and suddenly your heart’s flown off somewhere without you. He wanted to roll on the floor in agony—delicious agony!—and forget all earthy responsibilities for an hour or two while he daydreamed various scenarios which all ended in his dramatic and inevitable heartbreak, as directed by academy award winner, Julien “Jaskier” Alfred Pankratz, Oscar nominee three years running.

But alas, more tragically, the shop awaited in need of the final touches, and his great romance would have to wait. The van would arrive soon with his stock and then he’d be all out of sorts, scrambling for buckets and nutrient solution, running in and out of the cool room. His life-long lamentation would have to wait if he wanted his first fantasy to come true: for his magical little flower shop to pop up overnight. And so, he pulled himself reluctantly to his feet and set to work with the drudgery of filling the first thirty buckets. It would all be worth it in two hours’ time when the paper was pulled from the windows and the door opened wide to the world. As he worked, he sighed dreamily to himself. He hoped he had a good view of the bakery from the counter.

Finally, a few hours later, it was the end of Geralt’s shift. It had definitely been a memorable one, but as he changed out of his bakers’ uniform and back into his regular clothes—black jeans, a grey tank top—and stuffed his keys into his pocket, he set about to have a normal day. Walking out to the front of the shop, he snagged a danish on his way.

“I’ll be by later to pick you up kiddo!” he said to Ciri.

She was working the register. His fifteen year old was already charming customers with a devastating smile and cheerful demeanour. She smiled back at him. “See you later.” She then turned to a customer and persuaded them to add an extra scone to their order.

He was so proud.

As he walked out front, he spotted the new store that had seemingly popped up out of nowhere, freshly painted and already open. Out of curiosity he walked over and opened the door to go inside. It was full of flowers and small knick-knacks typical of a florist. But what really caught his eye was who was standing at the counter with his back to him, arranging things on a shelf. Geralt took a second to be in shock, his mind stuttering to a halt, before it picked back up and started going into overload. Before he could have any second thoughts, he spoke.

“Hello.”

“Ah! I’ll be with you in just a second!” Jaskier trilled. He hadn’t put up the open sign just yet, too busy putting the final touches in place. His heart skipped. His first customer! How he’d wanted to be behind the counter, looking as if everything had already been put together. He cursed himself for not having the foresight to lock the door. Hurriedly, he emptied the last of the contents from the box—stuffed animals with flowers and hearts that read _Get Well Soon, Happy Anniversary,_ and the like. With a sigh of satisfaction, he wiped his hands on his apron and turned around, extending a friendly hand towards his guest.

“Welcome to the _Bard’s Boque_ — _ey,_ ah … hey,” he stammered. His heart leapt up to his throat. The baker! In his shop! As his very first customer! His mind came to a grinding halt.

“Hey,” Geralt said. He glanced around the store, taking everything, “So I guess you’re the owner? Ciri and I had made our bets but neither of us guessed a florist.” He looked back at the man behind the counter, struggling to keep his feelings in check as his stomach fluttered every time he saw that face.

Jaskier recovered his hand, instead reaching for a business card from the stack by the register. He cleared his throat, offering him the card. His heart was racing in his chest. What a voice! Deep, resonate, dripping like honey. Oh, how very unfair. “Jaskier,” he replied. “And you would be?”

Geralt reached out to take the card, fingers brushing against Jaskier’s with a shock. He looked down to read the card. “Geralt, I own the bakery across the street.” Raising his eyes to meet Jaskier’s, he raised an eyebrow. “The Bard’s Bouquet?” His mind screamed in panic that he was coming on too strong.

Jaskier was blushing. He was sure of it. It was only a bit of static, but his idiot brain was shrieking at him that it was a sign, supplying so unhelpfully a single phrase: _le coup de foudre_ as the French say—the flash of lightning. Common idiom for love at first sight. A bit of static was hardly equal to lightning, but he’d be damned if it didn’t send electricity coursing through his every last vein.

“I sing,” he said, a little too loudly. “Hobby. There’s—the daffodils on the door, winding round the fanfare trumpet? That’s a sort of a tribute to the bard image. Daffodils look like those kingly—fancy—eh, trumpety things. And … ” Jaskier cleared his throat, reeling himself in. “I play the lute,” he said. He wished the floor would open and the earth would swallow him up.

“The lute?” Geralt vaguely knew what a lute was, a kind of guitar-looking instrument right? “That must’ve been difficult to learn, it isn’t a very common instrument.” He wasn’t that concerned about what a lute looked like when he was too busy staring at Jaskier and his cute facial expressions.

Jaskier perked up. Ah, a topic he could actually talk about with confidence! He beamed and straightened himself, a hand poised proudly on his chest. “Not at all, it turns out. You can learn it just as easily as you might learn the guitar or the piano with enough practise. We had a department at my university specialising in historic instruments. I picked it up to earn extra credit as part of one of my courses—trying to weasel my way out of a written final—and I fell in love with it within a week. Bought one first chance and took a few years of instruction under one of my professors. Ended up a music major in the end.”

“And just how does a music major end up running his own flower shop?” Geralt was intrigued. Beautiful _and_ multi-talented.

“I doubt you majored in baking in school,” Jaskier replied, grinning. “It’s not often a job calls for a lutenist. However, I used to work as a florist’s assistant for some years and I quite liked the job, so I decided to open my own shop once I’d earned enough to get started. And, well, here I am!” He spread his arms wide and whirled around, truly taking it in for the first time. “Act two begins!” he cried.

Geralt stared in rapture at Jaskier as he talked animatedly about his life. After a second he realised he’d gone too long without talking, and his stomach jolted as he rushed to reply. “I guess you’re right, you never really know what will happen in life. I didn’t think I’d ever have kids and yet, here I am.”

Jaskier’s fluttering heart crumpled and dropped like a lump of lead into the pit of his stomach. Kids. Geralt had kids. “You’re married?” he asked, conversationally.

Geralt flinched, and shook his head with a laugh. “No! Ciri was the daughter of my friend, but they died when she was young so I took her in.” He hesitated before asking, “How about you? Anyone waiting at home?” Was that too obvious? Fuck it’s too late to take his words back. His chest felt tight.

Jaskier blinked. The lead had turned to butterflies, and then to a perpetually flipping pancake, his stomach turning over and over with excitement and anxiety. Was he imagining the hint of flirtation? Wouldn’t be the first time. Or was it _really_ there?

“No,” he answered. “Just me, my lute, and an apartment full of plants.”

“What, no pets to share the apartment with?” Geralt asked. His stomach was fluttering, his head getting cloudier the more this went on.

“No pets, sadly. Too many plants they might chew on. I have a Venus flytrap if that counts.”

“That’s a shame, I know I would be pretty lonely without my cat.” Geralt couldn’t imagine living without her.

Jaskier’s eyes lit up. “You have a _cat?”_ he asked. He clasped his hands in front of his chest excitedly.

Geralt’s heart swelled at seeing him so excited, and he smiled, nodding. Pulling out his keys, he popped open the locket attached to the keyring. “The one on the right is Ciri, my daughter, when she was much younger. On the left is my cat, Roach. She’s getting on in her age, but I’ve had her for years and she hasn’t given out yet.”

Jaskier glanced at the pictures. He’d almost forgotten about the daughter. There she was all round rosy-cheeked with her big blue eyes and yellow hair. “So,” he began. “Ciri. How old is she?” Children were fine; he could handle children. The question was, what kind of child was this? Were they talking nappies, milk bottles, and midnight feedings? Toddling tykes who only sang E-I-E-I-O? Or was she in school, playing horsy and learning her two-times table?

Geralt snapped the locket shut and put it back into his pocket. “Ciri is fifteen, she works the front of the store with the customers. She’s a really hard worker, and she still gets good grades in school. I’m proud of her.” Admittedly, when he was first taking care of Ciri he had no idea what he was doing and was way over his head, but now he loved her with his whole heart.

Jaskier took a breath of relief. A teenager. Someone old enough to feed herself, go to the bathroom, get dressed, and go to school on her own. The gracious age that left their parents with enough time for a social life of their own again. And he could carry a conversation with a teen. There was hope for his little crush yet.

“She’s lovely,” he said. “Kids are great. Lot of fun.”

“I was pretty confused when I first got her but now I wouldn’t have my life any other way.” Geralt pulled out his phone, wincing when he saw just how long he’s spent talking to Jaskier. In his defence, it's pretty easy to get lost in eyes as pretty as those. “Shit, I’ve gotta get going. I have a lot of errands to do. Feed the cat, buy groceries; things like that.” He looked back at Jaskier, “Maybe we could talk again sometime? Outside of work though.”

Jaskier nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I’d like that very much. But, oh!” he cried. “Wait _one_ moment. A minute tops, just don’t move.” He put up his hands, commanding him to stay put before rushing behind the counter. He pulled a bit of clear wrapping plastic from a fresh roll on the wall. From a drawer beneath the counter, he selected two sheets of paper. He cut the plastic in half, then rushed with the lot behind the back curtain. After a few moments of hasty crinkling noises, he remerged with two bright bouquets in his arms, tied with green ribbon. He shoved one with white flowers in Geralt’s hands, looking flushed.

“Calla lilies. For your Ciri,” he explained. Then, he wriggled the second into the crook of his arm. Red carnations. “That one’s for you. It’s, erm, a bit of a welcome to the neighborhood sort of thing. That is— _I’m_ the new one around, but from me to you, as a thank you for welcoming _me_ and stopping in. Love how you just … took the card and all.”

He stared blankly at the bouquets, rethinking the words that had just tumbled out of his mouth. Without even looking, he grabbed a small potted plant from the shelf beside him and stuck in on top. “For your … cat,” he added. Catnip. He turned around, put a subtle hand over his eyes and suppressed a groan. _Great form, Jaskier,_ he thought. He could never flirt when it really mattered.

Geralt took the bouquets, tucking them gently under one arm. Picking up the small pot, he looked at it closer until the realisation hit him. “Is this catnip?” He was pretty sure he was in love.

“What else would I give a cat?” Jaskier asked, turning over his shoulder. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the mirrored vases. As he’d suspected. Bright red.

Geralt shrugged, looking back at Jaskier—oh he was still turned around. His ears were bright red, and Geralt’s heart swooned at the cute sight. Was he embarrassed? That was adorable. “So on your business card, is it your personal number or am I going to get a separate card for that?”

Jaskier whipped around so fast he nearly pulled a muscle in his neck. “You—my—! My personal number?” he stuttered.

Geralt smiled. “I imagine it would be a little hard to ask you out with your business number.”

Jaskier damn near burst a blood vessel. Someone up there was looking out for him after all! “Give me the card; I’ll write my number on the back,” he said. “Oh! Ah, a pen! A pen, need a pen—pencil—some scribbling thing,” he muttered to himself. He patted his pockets, turned in a circle, looking this way and that. Damn him for not finishing the counter sooner! His stash of pens and markers was probably still in the back room. He’d just signed for the flowers not too long ago—what had he done with his _pen?_

Geralt watched on in amusement as Jaskier flailed around, desperately looking for a pen. His chest filled with affection as he looked at his panicking, eventually taking pity on him. “Jaskier,” he said. “You have a pen in your apron pocket.” Geralt reached across to pull the pen out of the pocket, tapping the tip of it on Jaskier’s nose.

It was the moment Jaskier was sure he was about to drop dead of a particularly nasty brain aneurysm. He cleared his throat. Slowly, he reached up and took the pen. He held up his palm to accept the card. Miracle of miracles, he retained consciousness long enough to write his number on the back and return the card.

Taking the card from Jaskier and putting it in his back pocket, Geralt nodded. “Thanks, I’m sure I’ll get plenty of use out of this.” He took one of the red carnations from the bouquet and tucked it up behind Jaskier’s ear, whose blush had been dissipating, but now returned in full force until he almost matched the flower. “Cute. I’ll see you around sometime.” And with a final wink at Jaskier he walked out of the store.

A heart attack. _A heart attack for sure,_ Jaskier thought, his limbs going numb. Which arm was it for a heart attack? The left or the right? If he spent much time around this man, he’d develop heart palpitations in a three days or less. He’d need a _pacemaker_ if he was going to survive.

Jaskier locked the door and stumbled his way to the backroom. He lowered himself until he was lying on his back, staring up at the infinite void of his workroom ceiling. His face, his chest, his … _everything_ was on fire. Maybe he’d crawl his way into the cooler room among the flowers. If he died there, at least they’d be within easy reach, hopefully with time enough to sort out a nice bouquet.

He slipped the carnation from behind his ear. He stared at it. Then, he kicked his feet rapidly against the floor, positively giddy! He was laughing and whooping, flailing like a moron, ready to jump over a building! Geralt had asked for his number! A date was in short order! Still reeling, he clutched the flower to his chest and tried to imagine what it might be.

Yes, this had been the _perfect_ location after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Another collaboration with Black_Salt; this time, a chapterly runner! I have the pleasure of playing Jaskier in this story and Salty is our good friend Geralt.
> 
> Salty says, "hope you guys are reading for more gay pining."
> 
> Tags to be updated as we go.


End file.
